


Next stop, my heart

by headraline



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Civilian AU, Gen, Human AU, Human!Mondatta, Human!zenyatta, I was bored on the underground this morning and this came out, Jubilee line, M/M, Pre-Slash, aka my personal hell, genfic, hopefully one day I'llbe as lucky as zenny, human!genji, london tube, modern day AU, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: The Jubilee line sucks. It's always crowded, especially so between 8 and 9 in the mornings.«there's an insanely hot stranger pressed up against me and I don't even know his name, send help»...but sometimes it's not so bad after all.





	Next stop, my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Um.  
> I really don't have an excuse for this.  
> I was going to work and bored. So I started daydreaming Genyatta scenarios and.  
> Yeah.  
> Any fellow Londoners can confirm, the tube is HELL in the mornings.  
> Everything would be better if we all could have a nice lapful of Genji pressed up against our faces.
> 
> Meant to be a one-shot, might do Genji's POV just to close it up nice, but not right now.  
> Please love me.

Zenyatta knows the Jubilee line sucks.

To be fair, it’s computer-operated so if everything goes smoothly it’s fast, efficient and punctual.

But the _people_ , oh God. Especially in the mornings, there are just _so many._

Like every day, he was taking the westbound train to the shelter he worked at, always with his earbuds to shield himself from all the noises of the train and the crowds, and – _ugh_ , why are mornings so aggressively loud and slow?– always making mental lists, reminding himself which pups still needed to see the vet, which adoptions needed a follow-up call or visit, and so forth and so on.

He loves his job, loves working with animals as much as Mondatta loves working with people, and his big brother is proud of him.

Zenyatta loves it all, even when the overcrowded tube rides and bumbling masses put his care and compassion for all universe's creatures severely to the test.

Like today.

It's 8.30 on a Wednesday, which basically means disaster. He has, as usual, taken advantage of his small frame and wedged himself in the corner between the seats and the door, so that people could get on and off the train without him having to actually move.

Canada Water is, _as usual_ , hell on Earth at half eight in the morning, and Zenyatta is not surprised when, squished in by the tide of people trying to reach their school or work place, a body gets shoved against his, predictably bigger and looming over him.

No, what surprises Zenyatta is that the stranger he shares the unfortunate predicament with today smells good, for a change. Divine, even –not any overbearing cologne, no sweaty clothes, no smoke. The stranger smells like oranges and summer; and that's enough to make Zenyatta look up from the playlist he was scrolling through.

And stare.

And stare some more, because really, such a sight has to be committed to memory.

Living in London and using public transport regularly, you become naturally unbothered by unexpected physical contact, but this... this is different.

Maybe Zenyatta is more shallow than he would have liked to admit, because the stranger is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful, but Zen can recall at least a few dozen times he's already been pressed against attractive people, before. None of them ever made his body feel on fire in every point they touched.

The stranger looks Asian, possibly Japanese, he is quite a bit taller than Zen, broad-shouldered, with brightly dyed green hair and wearing a dark leather jacket. The first quick glance already ticks quite a few mental boxes Zenyatta didn't even know he had.

A slight drop in his gaze due to the embarrassing realization explains the smell:  hanging from the man's wrist there's a small  grocery bag filled with what looks like tangerines; and judging by the slight gloss on the stranger's lips –not that Zen was _obsessing_ over them or anything– he has eaten one or two already.

Zenyatta's traitorous playlist starts on _"Hungry Eyes"_ , and he instantly hits pause because no. Just _no_.

Of course, that means he's hit with the buzzing of the crowd, the clanging of the train and the crackle of static as the announcer states they're approaching Bermondsey, all at once.

He nearly topples forward into the handsome stranger's chest. He manages to catch himself and mumble a meek sorry, to which the stranger doesn't respond except for a shake of the head and a reassuring smile briefly breaking the lost-in-thought look he had.

Even his smile looks like summer.

Some people shuffle off the train, more try to push in, and someone nearly smacks into Zenyatta's side. Nearly, because the stranger's quick reflexes come to the rescue in the form of an arm shooting out and slamming a hand on the glass beside Zen's head, effectively stopping the backpack that was coming for Zenyatta's face with his arm.

The resulting 'thump' sound makes the young man wonder how much it would have hurt, had it actually hit his face. "Thank you." He musters up the courage to say, "You didn't have to do that."

Once more, the stranger shakes his head. "It's the least I can do, squishing you as I am." He shifts slightly, and Zenyatta is even more aware of how close they are: knees touching, one of the stranger's feet in-between his and, now that the stranger's free arm is on the glass, their faces close enough that Zenyatta can practically taste the tangerines this guy has been eating, his eyes level with the stranger's chin.

He needs a distraction or he's going to die of frantic heart palpitations. Phone already in hand, he does the only sensible thing: he opens a conversation with his brother, thankful for the tube Wi-Fi actually working for once.

 

 _«_ _there's an insanely hot stranger pressed up against me and I don't even know his name, send help_ _»_

 _—«_ _um, you could try asking?_ _»_

 _«_ _Mondatta you don't understand. This guy is not just hot. He is_

_he is_

_I stopped my music to talk to him_ _»_

 _—«_ _wow. I'll have to see this wonder._ _»_

 _«_ _I’m not going to take a creepshot at someone who's right up against my face, also it's just plain wrong! Are you joking?_ _»_

 _—«_ _relax, brother, I am. But really. Talk to him instead of wasting your chance freaking out at me. I'll see you at the shelter -cameras are down and I already called tech support._ _»_

Something vibrates in Zenyatta's lap and he jumps, before he realizes it's the stranger's phone.

He wouldn't really want to listen in, but things being what they are, it's inevitable.

"Yeah?" The stranger says, easy and familiar,  "Yes, I'm on the way already." A pause. "No I didn't forget the tool-box. I only took the things I actually need!" Another pause, "I'm sure _anija_. I'll call you when I'm done."

The last few words are in Japanese, probably simple goodbyes, but Zenyatta doesn’t really care what they are. They sound beautiful. He could listen to that voice for hours.

"Sorry." ‘Handsome Stranger’ says, "Nowhere much to go here." He awkwardly gestures to their closeness, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face.

"It's fine!"

If the man noticed that it was said a bit too fast and slightly too eager, he gracefully doesn't comment.

Instead, he asks: "Where do you get off?"

Zenyatta has to consciously bite back his instinctive answer, for it would be inappropriate at the very least, and think about his stop. "Bond street." He mutters, trying to curl into himself not to give away how much he wants to drop his face in that delicious looking chest.

The stranger bites his lower lip and it's just so unfair. "Hm." He muses coolly, "I have to run an errand at Green Park first and then move on."

Zenyatta's first thought is _'That's close by.'_

"Who knows, maybe we'll run into each other again." The way the stranger winks at him is completely unfair, because it makes Zenyatta _want_ to see him again. The train hitches just before pulling into Westminster, and the crowd gets jostled –turns out, Zenyatta doesn't have to fake it to stumble into the stranger's toned chest.

The green-haired beauty just chuckles slightly and readily clasps Zen's shoulder with his free hand, holding him steady and close. Zenyatta instinctively raised both hands in alarm; and he finds that the one clutching the phone just sent a «gjhyub» text to Mondatta, while the free one just copped a feel of rock-solid muscle.

Zen is grateful for his tanned skin tone that -hopefully- hides the massive blush he feels creeping up his neck.

"This is normally moving a little faster than I'm used to, but with a cutie like you I can't say I'm complaining."

"I— I didn't mean—" it's twice as unfair that the stranger is so carefree and smooth, while Zen is a stuttering mess. He partly wishes he could disappear and partly that this would last forever.

Eventually, the universe decides for him.

 _«_ _This station is Green Park. Doors will open on the right hand side. Change here for the Victoria line._ _»_

"Well." Beautiful Stranger says, untangling their embrace with some... reluctance? Does Zenyatta's imagination deceive him? Either way, Handsome Stranger looks right at him with deep brown eyes. "This is my stop. Thank you."

"For what?" It's out of Zen's mouth before he can stop it. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it most definitely wasn't what actually leaves the stranger's lips:

"For being the light in this otherwise bleak train ride."

Had he had his usual presence of spirit, Zenyatta would have laughed at the absolute cheesiness of that line, but after spending the bulk of 15 minutes nearly in sensory overdrive, pressed up against this beauty that smelled so good, was so warm and soothing and _safe_... the only reason he doesn't melt is the wall right behind him keeping him up. He stares after the stranger's retreating back until he’s out of sight and the train starts moving again.

The walk from Bond Street to the animal shelter is made entirely of 90s love songs and Zen doesn't feel in the least bit least bit guilty about it.

 

Mondatta is here, even though he works at the crisis support centre usually, he sometimes volunteers managing support to them as an excuse to see his baby brother.

"There you are! I almost thought the mysterious stranger whisked you away."

"Not funny." Zenyatta pouts, shrugging of his jacket and starting his rounds through the cubbies, "I didn't even get his name!"

"Bless your heart, little brother." The elder Tekhartha affectionately pats his back, after hearing the whole story. “I’m sure you’ll see him again if it was meant to be.”

Zenyatta knows Mondatta only means to comfort him, but it stings all the same –after all, what are the odds of seeing again a completely random person you only briefly passed on the underground?

“Hello? Is this number 19? I’m your tech support, I was called about security cameras not working anymore by a… Tekhartha Mondatta?”

Pretty high, apparently.

Zenyatta’s knee-jerk reaction is to hide under the counter, which clues Mondatta in to the newcomer’s identity.

“Hm.” He says, eyebrows rising slightly as he assesses the technician’s appearance with a new eye, slightly more critical but amused all the same. “Oranges and summer.”

The stranger blinks confusedly. “I beg your pardon?”

Mondatta shakes his head, “Nothing, sorry. I am the one who called, the computer and everything about the cameras is at the counter’s corner, where my brother is already making space for you, how thoughtful.” He says, not really giving Zenyatta a chance to flee the situation even if he wanted. “Sadly I have to go back to my duties, but I’m sure Zenyatta would love to assist you with anything you need, mister…?”

“Shimada. Uh, Genji.” There’s a bit of pause when Genji sees Zen re-emerge from the counter that tells him that yes –his beautiful disaster has recognized him. “Just Genji is fine.”

“Splendid! I’ll leave you in my brother’s capable hands.”

Zenyatta isn’t quite sure, but he would bet good money that his big brother has never moved so fast before in his life. Handsome Stranger –Genji, now he finally has a name – shrugs off his leather jacket, revealing slightly baggy jeans to which a utility belt with some tools is tied, and a black t-shirt that does nothing to hide the statuesque physique underneath –especially because late March is still quite soggy and pitiful in terms of temperature, especially in London, and there’s very visible and distracting proof that the technician’s body has very much registered the cold. Zenyatta tries really hard not to stare, but Genji has to come behind the counter and practically sit on the floor next to him to check the cables.

“So. Up in your personal space again. Sorry.”

If only he knew, Zen thinks. “It’s okay.” He allows himself to say. He really doesn’t mind in the least, and even manages to complete the rest of the morning routine while the other works.

Genji works efficiently and fast –too fast for Zenyatta’s liking, he was quite enjoying the view of the tech’s toned back as he inspected the wires. Still, it’s worth it if only to have the man stand up in front of him and another chance to talk.

“Ok, here’s what happened.” He says, “Something, I’m guessing one of the puppies, snuck behind and chewed part of a wire. The life-saving mechanism avoided the puppy being fried, but shut down everything else in the process. I’ve cut out the damaged portion of cable and rewired it into its proper socket, but it might be worth it to invest in one of those baby-proofing barriers for the side.”

Zenyatta nods silently. He doesn’t want Genji to go. He wants him to come back if he absolutely _has_ to go. He ponders whether Mondatta will forgive him if he periodically breaks something just to have Genji come back. He’s still searching his mind for a way to keep the green-haired beauty here, even as a traitorous part of his mind asks what could someone who’s practically a walking wet dream possibly find interesting about a scrawny Nepalese guy with a shaved head; but it’s Genji who breaks the silence.

“Tell you what, here.” He says, producing a card from his pocket and handing it to Zenyatta. “Top row is the work phone. You get either me or my brother. Call us if you need anything else done.” Zen was halfway to putting the note in the cash desk’s drawer when Genji continues, stepping closer to him –definitely closer than what would be considered ‘professional’, in an almost mirror of their position on the train: “Bottom row is my… personal phone. Call if you need someone to hold you and protect you on the tube.”

Genji leaves with a lip-bite and a wink and Zenyatta is not even mad at the little jab at his awkwardness from their earlier encounter.

“Call you if I need you to hold me, hm?” he mutters to himself, drawing a little heart on the corner of the card and then tucking it into his own pocket, “Will do.”

Ok, he thinks with a smile, maybe the Jubilee line doesn’t suck _that_ much.

He definitely looks forward to the next ride.


End file.
